


Weekend Pass

by Minxie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: KINK: D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kingsley lives for his weekends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weekend Pass

**Author's Note:**

> **Prereader:** @leela_cat  
>  **Disclaimer:** Following the cut is nothing more than the mad ramblings of a Southern redhead. Proceed with caution. ;-)  
>  **AN:** *slinks back in* Hi there... been a while, no? At least I came back with fic. PWP FTW!! ;-)

As always, the house is empty when Kingsley arrives. A single pillow, overlarge and covered in a deep jewel-toned brocade, is his welcoming committee. He needs this alone time to make the transition.

As the disorientation fades, he takes in a deep breath and then, eyes closing, releases it. He waits for a count of ten – five breaths in, five breaths out – and then blinks his eyes open. The Portkey – a careworn miniature of a Chinese Fireball, all scarlet scales and golden horns – goes on the mantel and he begins to strip, his mind settling, leaving the nonstop whirl of being the Minister for Magic behind as he peels away the layers.

Robe, vest, shirt. Boots, sock, trousers. Pant and undershirt. Until he's standing in the little living room naked, bared and vulnerable, dependent on someone else's protection.

Kingsley releases a shuddering breath and slowly sinks to his knees, waiting.

The muted sound of Charlie's laughter pulls Kingsley back to awareness. A quick glance at the clock tells him less than twenty minutes has passed. Nowhere near enough time to find that place within him, that little piece he holds back from everyone else, the place reserved strictly for Charlie, the place where he submits instead of leads.

His breathing – a slow and steady cadence of _in_ and _out_ and _in_ – belies the tension pulling across his shoulders, his muscles less malleable than blocks of lead.

Sucking in a long breath, Kingsley pulls himself into position – back straight, shoulders square, eyes cast towards the ground – and pushes his thighs further apart, displaying the heavy length of his cock in the way he knows Charlie prefers.

Then the door rattles, the knob twisting from the other side, and Charlie steps through the doorway. Heavy footfalls echo around Kingsley, the vibrations slinking through the wood floor to his feet, and the weight of Charlie's gaze wraps around his shoulders, warming him deep in his bones.

A hand drags over Kingsley's head, then curls and squeezes around his neck; a thumb drags over the sensitive skin behind Kingsley's ear as Charlie pulls his hand away. Goosebumps break across Kingsley's arms and his cock jerks against his thigh as need crashes over him, wanton and desperate.

He bites down on a moan – the time for begging will come later – and squeezes his eyes shut, heading off the temptation to lean back and look, to drink in the sight of Charlie, fresh from the dragon pens in tight jeans and t-shirt. The scents – sweat and summer sun – make his mouth water.

Anticipation is a heady thing.

Behind him, Charlie drops to a squat, his thighs pressing along the small of Kingsley's back, supporting and comforting. His arms come around Kingsley, fingers deftly dancing over skin – tickling over Kingsley's muscles, scratching through the dark thatch of pubes at the base of Kingsley's cock – until a tremor wracks Kingsley's body.

A soothing kiss brushes over the nape of Kingsley's neck as two of Charlie's fingers close around one of Kingsley's nipples, pinching and tugging, and Charlie's other hand grasps Kingsley's cock and, grip tight, strokes him, base to tip and back again.

And Kingsley is _lost_.

Pain radiates from his chest, zipping along his spine and curling deep in his balls. His cock is wet, precome leaking from the slit, pooling over his cockhead. He swallows, once and then once again, and then he breaks, a breathless moan rumbling through his chest.

Teeth rake across his shoulder, a thumb presses into his slit, under the foreskin and back out, leaving a damp trail in its wake. Everything he's been missing, been wanting and needing, _craving_ , surges and rolls just under his skin. "Please."

The hold on his cock goes from comfortable to just shy of painful and, just when he thinks he won't make it, can't possibly last long enough for permission, Charlie murmurs, "Now."

Kingsley's muscles tighten, his head drops back to Charlie's shoulder, and, mouth falling open, he comes hard. Then damn near passes out, the taut thread of stress and tension snapping and leaving him ragdoll lax.

The lips pressing against his temple curl into a grin, then Charlie whispers, "Welcome home, boy."

* * ♥ * *


End file.
